


i guess what i'm saying is (i fucking love you)

by Anney



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Fluff, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 18:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21286448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anney/pseuds/Anney
Summary: Five times Trent tells his teammates that he is dating Virgil, and one time Virgil does.orTrent learns a few things about love, relationships and how to handle extremely awkward situations.
Relationships: Trent Alexander Arnold/Virgil Van Dijk
Comments: 24
Kudos: 94





	i guess what i'm saying is (i fucking love you)

**Author's Note:**

> After I received a few requests to write Trent/Virgil (which I honestly didn't think I was actually going to follow through with) this baby popped into my head. So here I am, setting it free into the world.
> 
> This idea is loosely based on the wonderful [ Newsflash ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7176449) by redandgold (if carraville is your thing, you should go read that instead.) 
> 
> Title song is I.F.L.Y by Bazzi.

** 1\. Hendo**

Naturally, he must tell Hendo first.

He has twice gone over what to say in his head, and even though it comes out differently both times, it doesn’t occur to Trent that he’s not quite ready to face this conversation yet.

It doesn’t occur to him either that he might want to plan it a little bit better, maybe choose a time and place that suits the purpose, instead of the Melwood cafeteria during lunchtime.

None of this occurs to Trent before he is facing the skipper’s expectant face – all-teeth smile and arched eyebrows – after he yelled “Hendo!” a bit too loud, catching the attention of a few of their teammates in the busy cafeteria.

“Yes?” Hendo asks, smile unwavering even as he frowns a bit at Trent’s sudden silence.

His mind is suddenly empty, and he looks anxiously around the room. Everyone is minding their own business, no longer paying attention to where Trent and Hendo stand near the double doors. Virgil is nowhere to be seen, which is probably for the best, given the circumstances.

“Are you alright?” Hendo asks a bit worriedly.

Trent gulps loudly, and before he gives Hendo the chance to do something annoying, like checking his forehead for temperature, he blurts the news in a squeaky voice and almost unintelligible accent, and not at all like the speech he had rehearsed in his head.

“_IthinkI’mdatingVirgil._”

The skipper is not very good at masking his thoughts (he is rather shitty at it, to be fair) and Trent usually likes that about him, especially when he can tell he has done something right solely by the look of fatherly pride in Hendo’s face.

The only problem is that right now Hendo’s face is turning a very deep shade of red and a little vein has popped on the side of his forehead, and he really ought to check his blood pressure, maybe cut on salt even-

“Come again?” Hendo hisses, even though Trent is pretty sure he heard him fine the first time.

He takes a deep breath and leans closer to Hendo, lowering his voice to a hush.

“You see, the thing is, me and Virg, we-”

“No.”

Trent stops mid-sentence, mouth gaping like a fish, stunned by Hendo’s outburst.

“What do you mean – no?”

Jordan crosses his arms. His face is stony, and his voice is eerily calm, despite the quickening pulse of that weirdly distracting vein (maybe Trent should have a word about it with the medical team, that can’t be healthy).

“I mean – no, you’re not allowed to date Virgil. Or anyone else for that matter.”

Wait.

What?

“I wasn’t asking for permission,” he complains deadpanned.

“Good. Because I’m not giving it.” Hendo’s hard glare gives his own a run for its money.

Trent is flabbergasted, a mix of hurt pride and outrage bubbling up in his chest, as they stare at each other, fuming.

“Why not?!” he whines.

He has heard Hendo’s solemn speeches many times, and he can tell he is about to be presented with one right this instant. The only difference is that they’re usually confined to the dressing room, and not often laced with a vaguely condescending tone, that makes his toes curl in irritation.

“Listen here, young man. What do you know of the world? What do you know about relationships? I’m sure everything seems very fun and exciting right now, but nine times out of ten you’re just bound for disappointment in the long run. Believe me, I’m saving you a lot of trouble.”

That is… _wow_.

Trent doesn't know what to say. He doesn't even know what to think! Thankfully he is spared to, because Adam chooses that exact moment to arrive, looking back and forth between Hendo’s livid face and Trent’s shocked expression.

“What is going on here, then?”

Adam has the kind of calming presence that always brings good vibes whenever he walks into a room. Maybe it has something to do with his easygoing attitude or the goofy smile that puts everyone at ease. Or maybe it’s the way he often casually throws one arm around Hendo, kneading at his shoulder, which never fails to make the ever-stressed skipper relax into the touch.

Whatever it is, it works like clockwork.

Adam’s hand barely hovers over Hendo’s right shoulder and the captain’s jaw immediately unclenches, his arms uncross, and the colour of his cheeks returns to a slightly healthier shade of pink.

“It’s outrageous, Adz!” Hendo whines. “It’s terrible!” He waves his arms to emphasize his indignation and Trent feels the urge to roll his eyes.

“It’s not that bad,” he mutters.

“It’s a bloody nightmare.”

Adam stares between them, amused.

“What are you talking about?”

“Trent is asking our permission to _date_,” Jordan hisses. “Can you believe this?”

Trent manages to mumble “not asking permission” through his teeth, but it gets muffled against Adam’s chest as he pulls him into a hug.

“Congratulations, mate!” Adam grins, and Trent might be eternally grateful for this wonderful person and his timely intrusions. “Who’s the lucky bird?”

“WHAT?!” Hendo’s death glare is now directed at Adam, who seems remarkably not intimidated by it, and Trent makes a mental note to ask him what his secret is.

“What’s so wrong with that?” Adam shrugs.

“What is wrong?!” Ah. The vein is back. “He is too young for dating. Practically a child!”

“I’m not a child, Hendo.” Trent pouts, and he has to bite his tongue to stop himself from making things worse by whining ‘I’m almost twenty-one’.

Adam just rolls his eyes, his fingers back at rubbing down on Jordan’s shoulder.

“Don’t mind him, Trent. We’re really happy for you.”

He doesn’t know if he wants to thank Adam, scowl at Hendo, or dig a hole in the ground and bury himself alive.

“Tell him,” Jordan commands, in his captain voice. “Tell him what you said to me.”

Trent sighs. “I think I’m dating Virgil.”

The spectrum of emotions that crosses Adam’s face is nothing like Hendo’s, but his reaction is no less bewildering. At first, Adam’s mouth opens in a perfect ‘Oh’ only to morph into a wide teasing grin that stretches from ear to ear.

“You _think_ you are dating Virgil? Or _are_ you dating Virgil?”

“I-huh-”

See, the problem is, technically, Trent doesn’t know. It all started quite casually, if by casually he means spending the best part of one and a half years hiding his massive crush on the centre back and ending up clumsily kissing him after one night out last summer. Lucky for him, Virgil kissed him back and, well, they haven’t stopped kissing ever since. (Figuratively speaking, otherwise, Trent is pretty sure they would have run out of breath by now.)

Trent frowns, irked by Adam’s teasing expression.

“Does it matter?” he asks.

Adam’s shoulders shake with roaring laughter, and even Hendo snorts (though his smile quickly fades back into a scowl).

“Not to me, mate!” Adam says (ignoring Hendo’s pointed “Yes, it does!”). “But it might matter to Virgil, though. Does he know that you’re dating?”

Trent flushes, feeling as embarrassed as he is annoyed.

“Yes, Virgil is aware of the nature of our… _thing_,” he says, trying to keep some shred of dignity, but Adam laughs harder and Hendo huffs louder, and Trent crosses his arms in defeat.

He decides the best course of action is to patiently wait for Adam to stop laughing and Hendo to stop grunting, and he sticks to this decision for a whole five seconds before he snaps at the two idiots in front of him.

“Stop it. I’m not asking for your permission,” (he looks pointedly at Hendo), “and I’m not making this up,” (he glares at Adam). “I just wanted to let you know.” Which he is now very much regretting, even if he’s pretty sure this was Virgil’s idea in the first place.

“Sorry, Trent,” Adam says, and at least he looks half-serious this time. “I think it’s fair to say that this is a bit of a surprise, so please excuse our reactions. But we are very happy for you, and we hope you’re very happy together.”

Trent dares to smile a little, and Adam continues.

“And I know that you don’t need it, but you have our blessing anyway.”

Hendo lets out a muffled “humpf”, and Adam slaps the back of his neck. Trent stares anxiously at his captain, biting on his bottom lip, as Hendo and Adam engage in a silent staring argument, which Adam apparently wins because Jordan rolls his eyes and turns to Trent with a sigh.

“It’s fine, I guess.” Hardly a blessing, but Trent will take it. “No PDA in my dressing room, though,” Hendo warns, pointing his index finger sternly in his direction.

It doesn’t escape Trent’s attention that Adam has started to softly brush his fingers over the little hairs on the back on Hendo’s neck.

“Oh, we don’t do that.”

“What, PDA?” Adam asks, looking curiously at Trent.

“Yeah. No. I mean we don’t do the whole romantic stuff, like hand-holding and candle-lit dinners, and such…” He has a feeling that his mind is digressing into potentially awkward territory. “We don’t do that, like.”

He sees the mocking look on Adam’s face and sulks. “I’m not making it up, Adz!”

Adam shoots his arms up in surrender.

“Okay, I believe you. Nothing wrong with that. So, if you don’t mind me asking, what is it that you do exactly?” (Hendo groans.)

“I dunno.” Trent shrugs. “We just do normal stuff, only together, like playing FIFA and watching movies. And like… other stuff.” He blushes. (Hendo covers his ears, distraught.)

Adam beams.

“Aw, young love! Isn’t it beautiful, Jordan?” (Hendo throws up a bit in his mouth.)

*

It was hardly the best day of Trent’s life, but at least it had improved significantly since the awkward talk with Hendo and Adam at lunchtime.

Afternoon training went better than expected, and his team won the five-a-side tournament, which is always guaranteed to put him in a good mood. So what if Hendo’s scowling stares were slightly unsettling, and Adam’s teasing winks were downright mortifying? He could suffer through them, and if he’s really being honest with himself, he kind of likes it, in a weird way. Now that Hendo and Adam know, he and Virgil are no longer a secret, and that makes Trent giddy with excitement.

It did help to improve his day that the source of his giddiness has cooked them dinner (incredible homemade pasta that the nutrition team doesn’t have to know about) and is currently splayed next to him on the sofa, their arms brushing every other second, making Trent feel all fuzzy and warm and, well, happy.

It also helps that Trent is currently winning their game of FIFA, although that may change in a second because he’s been distracted by these thoughts and it looks like Virgil is about to score the equalizer. Trent reaches over and pauses the game before he has the chance, though.

“Hey!” Virgil complains. “I was gonna score.”

Trent ignores his protests, mostly because his train of thought has filled his brain with a nagging question (and only marginally because he wants to win their match), which is why he tosses the controller aside and turns to Virgil, with a fake nonchalance that masks how nervous he feels.

“Virg, are we dating?”

Virgil’s annoyed expression turns into a mix of surprise and amusement, and his breath is caught between a gasp and a snort.

“I was under the impression we were, yeah,” he answers, slowly enunciating every word while looking at Trent like he has sprouted a second head.

“Okay.” Trent settles back on the sofa, staring at the paused screen. He means to resume the game, but the fuzzy feeling in his chest has intensified by a factor of a thousand, and he needs to focus on how to keep on breathing instead.

“Okay…?” He hears Virgil chuckle. “Where did that come from?”

Trent shrugs, chewing on his bottom lip. “Dunno. Just checking.”

It’s ridiculous, and he knows it. He risks a sideways glance, and he sees Virgil frowning. He doesn’t like to make Virgil frown, so he reckons he ought to explain.

“I dunno, Virg. We never established that, and I wasn’t sure if you wanted to, like, label it. _Us_. It’s alright if you don’t, I mean, we don’t _have_ to define what we have. It’s not like it makes a difference to say that we’re dating, or we’re boyfriends, like…”

He’s ranting now. Oh God, he really needs to stop ranting, because he can feel his cheeks getting all flushed and Virgil is giving him _that_ look like he’s confused but endeared by his non-stop blabbering, and the way his mouth keeps spewing up this feelings gibberish is so embarrassing, so why can’t he stop talking-

“It’s fine, Virg, really. We can just keep doing our thing. I mean, I’d very much like us to keep doing our thing, if it’s al-” Virgil’s hand settles on his thigh and that effectively shuts him up. Thank God.

“Trent?”

“Yeah?” He looks up gingerly, and Virgil is smiling down at him. A big, bright smile.

“Will you be my boyfriend?”

Trent nods furiously.

“Yes,” he answers, and he can’t keep himself from beaming like an idiot.

“Okay.” Virgil smiles wider and settles back on the couch. Trent does the same, except this time he scoots closer to Virg. (He miscalculates the distance and ends up half in his lap. Totally unintentional.)

“Okay.”

With renewed confidence, he quickly picks up the discarded controller and resumes the game, deftly deflecting Virgil’s shot on goal before the other man can react.

“Tosser,” Virgil says, but he’s still smiling, so Trent doesn’t feel so bad about his questionable tactics. Virgil snatches the controller out of his hands, leaning over him on the couch, his face just inches apart from Trent’s. “What does it say about me that my boyfriend is a real wanker?”

Trent matches his grin, his heart beating wildly in his ribcage.

“Say that again,” he whispers.

“Wanker.”

He rolls his eyes.

“No, the other part.”

Virgil smirks down at him, eyes locked together, noses almost touching at the tip.

“What – boyfriend?”

Trent leans to close the gap between them, capturing Virgil’s lips in a slow, sweet kiss. Virgil chuckles against his lips, big hands cradling Trent’s face as he deepens the kiss. He melts into the touch and he thinks vaguely that he wouldn’t mind spending all his days doing this, even though he is pretty sure they look like a pair of lovesick idiots because they can’t stop grinning and that tends to make kissing very, _very_ hard. (Not the only thing that’s quickly becoming very, _very_ hard.)

“Wanna go to bed?” Virgil asks, with his trademark side smirk and a perfect raised eyebrow.

(His day has improved significantly, indeed.)

* * *

** 2\. Joe**

After the awkward first attempt with Hendo and Adz, Trent decides that if he's going to tell people that he and Virgil are dating – boyfriends, mind you (thank God no one is there to witness his daft grin) – then he must have a sound plan.

Which is why he texts Joe the next morning and asks him to meet up, outside of work. They set up a suitable time (after training) and a suitable place (the nice coffee shop near Joe's place), and Trent practices his speech in the mirror until he's confident that this time he knows exactly what he is going to say.

As far as telling your teammates that you're dating their fellow centre back goes, he's pretty sure that Joe Gomez is his safest bet. Not only he and Trent are best mates, but Joe is also a good friend to Virgil. So, really, what can go wrong?

This should be easy. Nevertheless, Trent wants it to go as smoothly as possible, so he arrives at the coffee shop a bit early. He chooses a nice little table by the window, and he orders a double shot cappuccino with extra foam (Joe’s favourite) and a black coffee (for himself, because what kind of a sociopath orders drinks with more than three syllables) and he sits down to wait for Joe.

Yes, Trent wants everything to be perfect, so he thinks it's a pretty good omen that Joe arrives exactly as the barista finishes preparing their drinks, steaming coffee smelling wonderfully in their little cups with the pretty designs on top.

Joe greets him with a handshake, and he takes off his coat, eyeing the cappuccino with a quizzical look.

“Your favourite, innit?” Trent asks anxiously.

“Yeah. Thanks, mate.” Joe answers, sitting down and reaching for his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

“Oh, it's nothing. My treat.” Trent smiles. Part one of the plan – put Joe in a good mood – is going smoothly.

“Okay...” Joe eyes him suspiciously for a second, as he picks up his coffee, blowing onto the steaming foam. “Thanks, bro.”

Trent grins. Good. Now onto part two.

“I have something I need to tell you,” he starts, voice steady and clear like he practised in the mirror.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Huh- the thing is... Huh- I-” Okay, so he didn't anticipate that his leg would be shaking nervously under the table, and his palms would start to sweat. Not a big problem, just a minor inconvenience, really. He will just wipe his hands on his trousers and focus on the speech he has prepared, which goes something like...

Blank.

He blinks, still smiling, and Joe is starting to look at him weirdly, so his mind needs to hurry the hell up remembering what he was about to say before this whole thing starts to go downhill.

_Okay_. He inhales sharply. _Focus_.

He had planned this whole introduction, something about unexpected feelings and how sometimes you feel drawn to a person and you can't seem to shake the feeling no matter how much you've tried – because said person is your teammate, and it’s Virgil van _fucking_ Dijk, and the idea of falling in love with a teammate that is Virgil van _fucking_ Dijk is pretty scary, but also exhilarating. And then, one thing leads to another and you find yourself knowing that your head fits just perfectly in the space between his shoulder and neck; knowing how it feels to kiss him and have him kiss you back; knowing how it feels to have your lips wrapped around his massive erect- _ohmygod_ that's definitely not how it goes. Shit.

Now his mind is reeling and supplying him with inopportune images of naked Virgil, and his face is quickly becoming beetroot red, and Joe has definitely noticed because he is calling out his name repeatedly and waving a hand in front of his face.

“Trent? Are you alright mate?”

Trent gulps. “Yeah. Like I was saying,...” Joe is still frowning, and Trent's cheeks still feel like they’re on fire, but here goes nothing. “You know when you spend a lot of time with a person, a teammate, like, and you start having some unexpected feelings for that person,…”

“Trent,” Joe interrupts him, wearily. “This isn't a date, is it?”

It takes him a few seconds to process what Joe just said.

“What?!” His voice raises an octave out of sheer panic. “No! Why would you think that?!”

“I dunno, mate. You ask me here, pay for my drink, then get all flustered and start blabbering about having feelings for a teammate. What do you expect me to think?”

Well, when you look at it like that, maybe he can see where Joe is coming from.

“Oh my God.” Trent groans, hiding his face in his hands. “No, this isn't a date, Joe. I have a boyfriend. That's what I’ve been meaning to tell you, actually.” In retrospect, he probably should have led with that.

“Oh.” Joe looks relieved, and he laughs loudly. “Thank God! You got me worried a bit there, man. No offence, I mean, I like you, but not _like_ that.”

Trent feels himself relax (even if his ego is a little bit stung), and he slouches back in his chair.

“A boyfriend, you say, eh?” Joe takes a sip of his cappuccino, looking at him over his cup. “Who's the poor guy? Do I know him?”

He nods sheepishly. “It’s Virgil.”

Joe freezes as he puts the cup down, spluttering coffee all over the table.

“Excuse me, did you say Virgil?”

“Yes.”

“As in Virgil van Dijk?”

“Yes.”

“You're dating Virgil Van Dijk?”

“YES!” Trent hisses, looking around the coffee shop with concern. “Do you want to say that a little bit louder? Maybe go yell it outside of The Sun headquarters? Fuck’s sake!”

“Sorry, sorry!” he says more quietly, while he tries to mop up the spilt coffee with an excessive amount of paper napkins. “It's just... this is rather surprising.”

“So...?” Trent asks, hesitant.

Joe looks up from the sodden mess on the table. “So what?”

“What do you say?”

Joe studies him intently, suddenly looking way too stern with his arms crossed and pursed lips.

“First of all, I need to know what your intentions are,” he states gravely.

Trent looks at him in confusion. “My what, now?”

“I need to know if you have honourable intentions regarding Virgil.”

“What-why?” he asks dumbfounded.

“Why, Trent?” Joe says. “Because Virgil is my mate and I care about him!”

The first thought that crosses his mind is that he feels oddly betrayed.

“I thought that I was your mate!” he says indignantly.

“You are, you are. We're best mates, bro,” Joe says. “But you see, Virgil is my partner. My fellow centre half. We got to have each other's backs. I just need to know that you're serious about him. That you're not gonna change your mind and leave him a wreck.”

Trent wants to protest, but Joe holds his hand up to prevent him from talking.

“Also, I need to be sure that you're not gonna mess up his game. If he goes all soft and distracted in love, next thing you know we'll have players dribbling past him left and right. We can't have that, can we?”

Trent exhales slowly, trying to contain his exasperation so that it doesn’t seep through his voice (and he fails spectacularly at that.)

“First of all, _bro_, I'm pretty sure I'm not messing up Virgil’s game, since we've been together since the summer and he has been playing as good as ever.” (He shoots Joe a death glare before he can utter ‘Nicolas Pepe’)

“Second of all, not that it is any of your business, but I’m very serious about our relationship. It is the best thing that has happened to me, Joe,” he sighs, looking for the right words.

Growing up, he expected that falling in love came with an overwhelming rush of feelings, properly accompanied by fireworks, and soppy love songs, and grand gestures. He loathed the idea, like he loathed most romantic things.

Instead, he found that falling in love might just be a smooth, comforting feeling that steadily seeps into his bones, like a warm blanket on a cold rainy day. It might just be that little spark that makes every victory taste better and every loss less harsh, and even the same boring everyday things become a little bit more exciting because he gets to share them with Virgil.

“He just makes me happy,” he finishes lamely, because he can’t quite translate into words how he really feels. “And I want to give us a proper chance. So, you can rest assured that my intentions are _honourable_, or whatever.”

Joe is staring oddly at him, holding his coffee cup close to his mouth, a hint of a smile hidden behind it.

“Wow,” he says, taking a sip. Trent wishes the ground could swallow him whole (a recurring side effect of these conversations he is beginning to notice). “You're really gone for the man, aren't you?” Joe chuckles and Trent blushes hard. “Like head over heels, madly in love sort of thing.”

Trent shrugs, a shy smile breaking through his scowl at the thought. Maybe he is madly in love with Virgil. At least there's no other sensible explanation for why he has willingly subjected himself to the torture of announcing their relationship to his teammates.

He tells Joe as much.

Joe beams up at him, with a little nose scrunch.

“Fine. If it's looove,” he stretches out the word amusedly and Trent tosses a crumpled napkin at his head. “Then I suppose you're alright.”

Trent still glares in defiance, even though deep down he feels a rush of gladness and relief.

“I wasn’t aware that I needed your approval.”

Joe shakes his head.

“Tsk, tsk. Trent, you’ve got a lot to learn.”  


*

“Trent.”

His head snaps as he hears Virgil’s voice coming from the hall and he hastily closes the youtube tab on his phone (no one needs to know he has been watching the Liverpool v. Barcelona highlights yet again).

The voice sounds closer as he tries to look busy doing something else.

“Why is Hendo under the impression that I'm going to break your heart?”

Shit.

Trent looks up from the phone to where Virgil is leaning against the doorframe. He totally forgot to tell him about his talks.

“So, remember last week, when you said that it might not be a very good idea to keep us a secret from the lads, like?” He smiles meekly up to his boyfriend.

“Yes,” Virgil says with a weary ‘what did you do’ look on his face.

Trent swallows.

“Well, I thought it would be a good idea to, huh, tell them.”

Silence.

“You told the lads about us?”

Panic.

“Not everyone. Just Hendo, Adam and Joe.” He bites his lip. “Are you mad?”

To his relief, Virgil smiles.

“No! I’m not mad,” he plops down next to Trent on the sofa, and Trent finds himself leaning into his warmth. “I wish you would have given me a heads up, though. Hendo gave me a real fright.”

“Oh. What did he say?”

“I believe his exact words were ‘if you ever even think about breaking his heart, I swear I will tackle you so hard that I will break both your legs, league chances be damned’.”

Trent grimaces sympathetically, and he throws one arm around Virgil, snuggling against his side.

“Sorry,” he says as he leans his head on Virgil’s shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, Joe Gomez seems to think he’s some kind of authority on who can or cannot date you.”

Virgil chuckles, kissing his forehead.

“I’m sure he means well.”

“He thinks of himself as your partner!” he snorts, mildly outraged.

“Well, he is, in a sense.”

Trent can detect the teasing smirk just from the sound of Virgil’s voice, and he shakes his head, pouting.

“Shocking, that.”

Virgil chuckles. “What?” he says, hugging him closer. “Are you jealous?”  
  
“No,” he says categorically. And, because he kind of is a little bit jealous, he adds petulantly, “Joe thought I was gonna ask him out, at first.”  
  
“Oh. Should_ I_ be jealous?”

He thinks about teasing Virgil for a bit, an eye for an eye. But he sees the bright smile plastered on his boyfriend’s face and the twinkle in his eyes and he decides he would just rather kiss him instead.

“You were watching the Barça video again when I came in, weren’t you?” Virgil asks when they pull apart, and Trent smiles guiltily. “Well, put it from the beginning, I want to watch with you.”

* * *

** 3\. Gini**

Trent decides that he is not going to tell anyone else.

In fact, he is going to bury the memories of the two cringe-worthy conversations so deep in the back of his mind that he will eventually forget about them. Which is easier said than done, because Adam and Joe have taken to snickering behind his back, whispering with their foreheads close together every time Trent passes by them.

And they call _him_ a child!

His mood turns sour, and he pouts throughout the entire training session (and Virgil calls him out on being distracted, which makes him pout some more). After Klopp dismisses them, Trent stays behind, wandering around the pitch with a ball at his feet.

He watches his teammates flowing out of the training pitch, and Virgil looks at him over his shoulder, a silent question in his eyes. Trent shakes his head ‘no’, and Virgil understands and heads out with the rest of the team.

He just wants some bloody peace and quiet.

He adjusts the ball with his left foot and kicks it towards the goal with the full force of his right foot, the shot hitting the bar with a resonating bang.

“What’s up with you today?”

He startles at the voice behind him and turns to see Gini’s small frame, a worried look on the Dutch’s face.

So much for his peace and quiet.

But Gini is really nice, and it’s not his fault that Trent is so cranky, so he thinks he ought to at least give his concerned teammate some sort of justification.

“I’m fine, just a little bit tired. Some of the lads seem to have taken the day off to make fun of me for-” He stops himself before he says too much, looking anxiously at Gini.

“For what?”

Too late. He smacks his head mentally. Might as well go for it now.

“I’m dating Virgil.”

He stares at Gini, bracing himself for whatever bewildering reaction fate has in store for him today. Gini stares back.

“I know,” he says.

That is not what Trent was expecting.

“You… know?” he asks.

Gini nods.

“Virgil told you?” Trent guesses it would make sense. Virgil and Gini are close, being national teammates and all. Still, he thinks that Virgil would have mentioned if he had told Gini.

“No, no,” Gini says. “Virgil didn’t tell me anything. I just kind of… deduced.”

Trent is left dumbstruck. 

“H-how?”

“At first, it was the little things. He wouldn’t shut up about you, you know, – ‘Trent said this; Trent did that’.” He chuckles fondly. “It wasn’t too obvious, but I’ve known him for a long time, so I started to have my suspicions. It only became evident over the international break.”

Trent frowns, thinking back. International break in September was the first time he and Virg had been apart for more than a few days since they started seeing each other.

He’s not going to lie; he had missed Virgil like hell the entire week. He had tried to sneak out during the day to text Virgil as often as he could, just to tell him about something funny that happened in training, or to complain about Gareth insisting in starting Tripps over him.

Trent also found it very hard to sleep alone in the hotel king-size beds, after getting used to falling asleep with Virgil’s warm body by his side. He treated the resulting insomnia with late-night phone calls, and he and Virgil would talk for hours, analyzing each other’s matches or talking about their day, including one memorable night when they got a bit carried away and Trent ended up with his hand down his pants while Virgil’s sexy low voice whispered filthy words in his ear, and- _Oh. No._

He grimaces, and Gini gives him an apologetic smile.

“Our rooms were next to each other. There is no way he could have known that the walls were paper thin.”

Trent groans, hiding his face in his hands. This is just great. On top of everything else, now he finds out that Gini Wijnaldum has overheard them having phone sex. _Ugh_. Can this day be any worse?

“Don’t worry, I didn’t hear much. Just enough to get the gist of things.” He feels Gini’s hand squeeze his shoulder. “Hey, for what it’s worth, I think you’re perfect for each other.”

That spikes his curiosity enough to peek through his fingers.

“Oh?”

“Well, for one, I’ve never seen Virgil happier than in the last few months, and that’s saying something, considering we won the Champions League just before that,” Gini jokes. “I suppose he had been pining after you for quite some time, so it’s no wonder.”

“Pining after me?”

Gini laughs at his incredulous face.

“Ah, but you must have noticed,” he says, and Trent is left speechless. Does he mean to tell him that they could have gotten together much sooner, instead of spending almost two fucking years nursing an agonizing crush on his teammate?!

Gini is oblivious to his inner turmoil and he carries on speaking.

“Virgil likes to act all tough and chilled, but he’s actually a big softie. You can see it in the way he talks about you, in the way he just lights up when you walk into a room. He’s very much in love with you.” Gini’s kind eyes bore into him, and his words register deep in Trent’s heart. “Hold on to him, mate. And you can be sure he’ll never let you go. It’s like you’re his… I don’t know how you say it. We have a dutch word for it – _schatje_. It means someone you love and treasure.”

“Schatje,” Trent repeats, his tongue curling tentatively around the foreign word.

“Yes.” Gini smiles, already turning to head back inside. “Anyway, don’t let anyone make fun of you for being in love. They should only be so lucky.”

*

Later that night, when Trent slides into bed, he just snuggles against Virgil’s warm body, holding onto him as tight as he can.

And when Virgil sleepily asks him if he’s alright, Trent whispers against his skin.

“Just perfect, mijn schatje.”

If Virgil finds it odd that he probably just butchered the dutch words, he doesn’t mention it. But he holds Trent closer against his chest and they fall asleep in each other’s arms with disgusting matching smiles on their faces.

* * *

** 4\. Bobby**

Bobby Firmino is the kind of person that is always smiling.

Trent isn’t sure if the Brazilian is happy all the time, or if it’s just a dental work gone wrong that left him with a permanent grin on his face.

Either way, there’s something about Bobby’s disarming smile that makes Trent want to spill all his secrets. Which is why he finds himself sitting in front of Bobby on the cafeteria (again, not ideal), swirling his fork around his plate of uneaten breakfast while looking intently at the man as he wonders how to approach the subject.

A full five minutes go by before Bobby stares back with a puzzled grin.

“Do I have something in my teeth?”

Trent shakes his head.

“No.”

Bobby nods.

He’s not a man of many words, Bobby. (Well, he is, mostly when he’s chatting to Fab and Ali in portuguese.) But that makes him a very good listener. (Even if Trent thinks that half of what he says gets lost in translation, scouse accent not helping at all.)

“Bobby, may I ask you a question?”

Bobby grins expectantly.

“What do you think about workplace relationships?”

Bobby grins confusedly.

“For instance, say, if you found out that two of your teammates were together, like.”

Bobby grins encouragingly.

“Would you be okay with it? Do you think the team would be okay with it?”

Bobby grins affirmatively.

“So, say, those teammates were, like, me and Virgil…”

Bobby grins elatedly.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Bobby nods.

And grins.

And says nothing.

Trent sighs. This was probably a poor idea, but—hey_, _at least nothing terribly embarrassing happened. Bobby seems pretty happy about it, so he’ll count this one as a victory-

“TRENT JOHN ALEXANDER-ARNOLD!”

He almost jumps out of his seat as Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain yells out his full name, banging his fists on the table in front of him.

“What is this that Joe tells me about you and Virgil?!”

Trent is grateful that he hasn’t started eating yet, because otherwise he might have choked on his food. On the downside, he just lost his appetite.

He looks apprehensively between Ox’s expectant face and Joe’s apologetic smile. He almost misses Robbo standing behind Alex with his arms crossed, until the Scottish left-back speaks.

“Is it true?”

Trent is pretty sure his burning cheeks give away the answer, but he still puffs out his chest, mustering every bit of courage he can find.

“Yes, it is true. I’m dating Virgil.”

Their reactions could not be more different — Ox beaming like he won the lottery and Robbo looking very much disgruntled — yet Trent knows them well enough to recognise that he should fear them both.

“Oh my days, this is great!” Ox cheers with glee.

“This is so unfair!” Robbo whines.

He ignores them both and sends his best resentful glare towards Joe.

“I’m so sorry, Trent,” Joe apologizes. “It just slipped out. I didn’t know it was still a secret.”

“You did great Joey,” Ox says. “This is the best thing that’s ever happened! Oh- the banter! I’m going to have a field day with this!”

Yes, that is exactly what Trent fears.

“This is absolutely _not_ great,” Robbo complains. “You’re just goin’ to be his favourite full-back from now on, aren’t ye? No way I can compete with that.”

The competitive side of Trent wants him to say that he was already the favourite from day one, but it seems a bit unwise in the position he’s in. So he just scowls at Joe some more and lets the other two jabber. Maybe if he ignores them long enough, they will go away. (They don’t. They just keep talking like he isn’t right there.)

“Trent finally _scored_! Too bad it wasn’t on the pitch.” Ox muses.

“A bloody unfair advantage, that’s what it is.”

“Indeed, Robbo. You might even say he’s getting a-_head_.”

“I bet he’s doing this just to spite me.”

“I bet he calls him Big Virg in the sack.”

Trent groans, dropping his head on the table. This cannot be happening.

“Okay, guys, that’s enough,” Joe intervenes. “Let’s leave him alone. I’m really sorry, Trent,” he apologizes one last time before dragging Ox and Robbo away.

_Ugh_. He wonders — if he lets his forehead rest on the table top long enough, would he eventually melt into the wood and disappear? It might be fun becoming an inanimate object. Certainly, it must be better than facing the never-ending stream of embarrassment that his life has become. (Although he can think of at least one very good reason to stick to his current life as a very-much-animate person.)

“Trent?”

He looks up, having almost forgotten that Bobby was still there.

“Don’t be upset,” Bobby says softly, eyes filled with kindness. “I think you’re really brave in doing this. You should be proud of yourself, not embarrassed.”

Trent sags tiredly. “I know. And I am proud. It’s just…” He huffs in frustration. “If telling our teammates – our best mates – is this weird, I can’t imagine what it will be like if it gets out.”

Bobby nods his head in understanding. “The rest of the world might not be so kind.” He smiles sympathetically.

Trent shudders – not because he hasn’t thought about it (obviously, he has) – but because it’s so easy to pretend it won’t matter when he’s alone with Virgil, in the safe bubble of their homes. But it does matter, and they’ve all tasted a bit of what it is like – racist chants coming from the stands, prejudice and bigotry all over social media. He doesn’t really want to add homophobia to that list. But at what cost? Spending the rest of his life hiding and worrying about when will the bubble burst?

“It’s not fair,” he says, and his shoulders sag a little further.

“No, it is not,” Bobby answers, and the sullen silence stretches between them. “But you can count on us. You know that, right? Those two over there,” he points at Ox and Robbo, “They are idiots. But they’re _our_ idiots. At the end of the day, they’ll have your back, no matter what. We all will.”

He knows it in his heart but hearing it from Bobby makes him feel a little bit better. He gives the Brazilian a grateful smile.

“Thanks, Bobby. I really appreciate that.”

The other man grins.

The world might tilt on its axis, and scare the hell out of him sometimes, but at least there are some things that Trent can always count on.

* * *

**5\. Mo and Dejan**

Once Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain gets hold of the slightest bit of gossip, it is an absolute certainty that it will spread like wildfire. Hence, Trent is not too surprised when Mo and Dejan approach him in the dressing room after the training session, sitting on either side of him.

“Congratulations are in order, I believe,” Dej says, and Mo nods his head, smiling.

“Thanks, guys,” he says wearily.

“So, you and Virgil…”

“…decided to tell the team, huh?”

“Ballsy.”

They’re doing that trademark _MoAndDejan_ thing where they finish each other’s sentences, and Trent has no idea why the lads decided to take the piss on him when Mo and Dejan always act so annoyingly couple-y and no one ever bats an eyelid. 

“Should we not?” Trent asks, mostly anxious to get this over with.

“Oh, you totally should!” says Dej.

“We think it’s great!” Mo adds.

“How’s that working out, then?”

Trent sighs. “It’s… okay, I guess. Although some of the lads seem to have very strong opinions about my love life.”

“Ah. That can be rough…” Dej comments, on his right.

“…It’s just because it’s new, you know…” Mo says, on his left.

“… everything will go back to normal soon,” Dej says, and Trent’s neck is starting to hurt.

“So why are _you_ telling people, and not Virgil?” Mo asks.

“He-huh-,” Trent takes a deep breath, grateful for the break from looking back and forth between Mo and Dejan as they speak in close succession.

“He sent you to do the dirty work for him, didn’t he?” Dejan gives him a piercing look.

“That’s not what happened.” Trent answers. At least he doesn’t think so. _Right? _

Dejan and Mo share a knowing look.

“And what did Klopp say?” Dej asks.

Trent hesitates, swallowing. “He doesn’t know yet.” Although at the rate the news is spreading, he can’t be too sure.

“You didn’t tell the gaffer?” Dej looks scandalized.

“Oh! You have to tell the gaffer.”

“It’s mandatory, brate.”

“Yes, _requisitory_.”

“That’s not a real word, Mo.”

“It is. I said it.”

“Making up words doesn’t make them real.”

“If the word is not real, how can I say it? If I speak it, it exists!”

“Mo, that’s absurd.”

“Is that a real word?”

“Oi,” Trent says exasperated. “Just slow down. Talking to you two feels like watching a table tennis match.” It’s exhausting. He just wants to go home and curl up on the sofa and sleep.

“Oh!” Dejan’s eyes light up. “We should have a table tennis tournament.”

“You want your arse kicked again?” Mo laughs.

“I’ll win. You’ll get your arse kicked.”

“You wish!”

“No, you wish!”

“No. _You_ wish.”

Trent sighs, giving up and gathering his things to leave. When he heads out, Mo and Dejan are still bickering, oblivious to anyone else, and Trent doesn’t know why, but it makes his heart melt a little bit.

*

Virgil is cooking dinner and it smells delicious enough to make Trent forget all about curling in the sofa and sleeping.

He sits on the kitchen counter instead, feet dangling up in the air as he peers down to inspect the pots and pans on the cooker. Virgil is busy with slicing, stirring and seasoning, yet sharp enough to slap his hand away as he tries to dip his finger into the sauce pan.

“Not yet,” he warns, waving the wooden spoon in his direction.

There's something mesmerizing about Virgil cooking, the way he moves around the kitchen with graceful precision, so Trent is happy to just watch him for a while. He is too distracted ogling his boyfriend, so he barely hears Virgil ask about his day. He doesn’t answer right away. That day’s events flash back into his mind and the restless feeling is back. How is he going to tell Virgil that half of the team knows about them already? 

“What.” Virgil asks, though it is not really a question.

“I didn't say nuttin'.”

“Exactly.” He smiles softly, dark eyes boring into Trent’s. “You have something on your mind. What is it?”

Trent swallows loudly.

“Remember when I told you about my talk with Joe. About us,” he starts.

“Yeah.” Virgil snorts, his attention slowly drifting back to the food. “I still can't believe Joe thought you were asking him out.”

“Right. Well. Apparently, Joe told Robbo and Ox about it, and you know what it's like with Ox...”

This time, Virgil drops the wooden spoon (thankfully with only minor splattering), and he looks at him hesitantly.

“So... Everyone knows?”

“Probably.” Trent says, with more easiness than he feels. He keeps his eyes on Virgil, trying to gauge his reaction.

“Oh.” Virgil looks thoughtful for a second, before he smiles, seemingly satisfied. “Okay.”

“Okay?” Trent asks skeptically.

“It's a good thing, no?” He doesn’t seem the littlest bit bothered. Huh.

Trent frowns. “I guess, but-”

“We talked about it,” Virgil adds. “It's not a very good idea to keep something like this a secret. It was the right thing to do.”

Trent studies him suspiciously. Virgil is back at stirring, his full attention directed at the tomato sauce.

“Virg?”

“Hmm?”

“Did you put me up to this so you wouldn't have to tell people yourself?”

That catches his boyfriend attention.

“I-what-no! That's ridiculous, _ofcoursenot_!” He chokes, and he blushes, and- _when has Virgil van Dijk ever blushed in his life?_

Trent narrows his eyes and Virgil gives him a guilty grin.

“I can't believe you!”

“I didn't do it _on purpose_,” Virgil defends himself. “I mean, I brought it up, fully intending to tell people myself if you agreed to it. But then you decided to tell Hendo – without me knowing, by the way – and afterwards you started telling everyone and you were doing so well already, I just figured it would spread eventually.” He shrugs sheepishly.

“That's shocking, that.” Trent shakes his head in faux outrage, fighting against the smile that tugs on his lips.

“I’m sorry, love. I shouldn’t have let you do it alone.” The cute sheepish smile on Virgil’s face is not something that Trent gets to see often, so, really, who can blame him for forgiving him already? It also doesn't hurt that Virgil is scooting closer, sliding between Trent’s legs.

The taller man slides his hands against his waist, pulling him closer until their foreheads rest together. Trent licks his bottom lip as warm hands slide under the hem of his shirt, and Virgil leans his face closer, mouths perfectly aligned, and- an idea flashes in Trent’s mind, and he stops Virgil with a hand on his chest.

“You have to do us a favor, though,” he says.

Virgil steps back an inch, eyeing him suspiciously.

“What is it?”

Trent sucks his bottom lip in.

“You have to tell Klopp. I believe it’s only fair, since I did all the work so far.”

Virgil groans, but Trent sees the corner of his lips lifting a little.

“Alright. Fair enough.”

“Good. Now come here.” Trent smirks, promptly grabbing Virgil's shirt and pulling him closer again.

He kisses him hard and Virgil kisses back eagerly. His hands slide back under his shirt, pressing him closer, and Virgil bites down softly on his bottom lip, dragging his tongue over it. Trent slides forward on the kitchen counter, and his legs curl around Virgil’s waist, an involuntary moan escaping his lips as they grind against each other.

“Virg,” he whispers, already out of breath, as his boyfriend drags his lips down his neck in a trail of tantalizing little kisses.

Virgil's lips feel deliciously hot where they touch his skin, igniting a spark that travels through his body and pools in his lower belly, a slow burning that overpowers his senses – touch, and taste, and smell...

“Virg,” he whispers again, with more urgency. “Do you smell burning?”

It takes them a few seconds to fully realize what is wrong.

They spring apart, and Virgil immediately runs to turn off the cooker, desperately waving his hands in an attempt to dissipate the menacing cloud of grey smoke that shrouds their would-be dinner. Trent jumps down from the counter, trying to help in any way he can, but even if they manage to ensure they won’t burn down the house, their meal is beyond salvation.

Virgil looks glumly at what was previously tomato sauce, now an irrevocably charred mass stuck to the bottom of the pan, and Trent can’t help but to smile at the sight of his boyfriend, usually so calm and collected, looking handsomely disheveled, with stray curls escaping his bun and smudged cheeks. Trent hugs him from behind and laughs into his shoulder, taking the pan out of his hands and tossing it into the bin.

“Want to go out for dinner?”

(They end up in a cozy, dimly lit restaurant, faces illuminated by the little decorative candles. Trent holds Virgil’s hand under the table, and he thinks that maybe he isn’t too opposed to start doing the whole romantic thing after all.)

* * *

** 6\. Klopp**

He freezes momentarily as he stares at the imponent wooden door, closed fist hanging mid-air as he is just about to knock.

He is not _exactly_ nervous – after all, he is Virgil van Dijk – but he is certainly not calm. And he doesn’t like it.

He knocks on the door, sharp and loud, because Virgil van Dijk is nothing if not determined, even in the face of hardship, and he walks into the airy office with all the confidence he can muster.

Jurgen Klopp doesn’t immediately look at him, too busy shuffling through his music library (at least Virgil thinks that’s what he’s doing, judging from the rapidly changing tunes that come out of the speakers).

“Ah, Virgil! Just the man I wanted to see.”

That stops Virgil mid-track, and he stands awkwardly in the middle of the too-spacious office. It’s an odd remark since Virgil didn’t exactly announce his impromptu visit to the gaffer. He frowns a little.

“How so, boss?”

Jurgen looks up and grins warmly, as he always does, adjusting the glasses perched on his nose with one finger. 

“Sit down,” the gaffer motions at the chairs in front of his desk. “This might take a while.”

He does so, suddenly much less determined, and even Klopp’s warm demeanour does nothing to quench the odd feeling in his stomach. He fights the urge to gulp – a task that turns increasingly difficult as he becomes hyperaware of the dryness in his throat.

He studies the man before him, trying to assess the situation. Klopp is… well, he is the best, simply put (even though Virgil is aware that his own bias is showing). He is certainly the best manager he has ever worked with, with an incredible eye for detail that gives him an almost omniscient presence.

But there’s no way he can know why Virgil is here. Right?

As if answering his thoughts, Jurgen laughs. “I spoke to Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain earlier,” he says.

Oh.

Maybe he does know. So much for telling the gaffer himself.

He shifts awkwardly in his seat, waiting for the follow-up, but Jurgen still seems more preoccupied with the choice of music.

“So… what do you think, boss?” he asks when the gaffer’s silence stretches for too long.

“I am astonished, to be honest,” Jurgen says gravely, folding his hands over the table. “It’s all very amusing, for sure. But I must say, I expected a little bit more from you, being the oldest.”

His stomach drops and his heart beats loudly in his ears, muffling the background music. Yet, Jurgen seems oblivious to his distress.

“I suppose times have changed,” he continues. “You kids, these days, like different things and, well, who am I to judge?”

Virgil doesn’t know what he was expecting to come out of this talk, but it certainly wasn’t _this_.

The manager doesn’t even look him in the eye as he adds, “I know this is old news, anyway, but Pep only showed me the video yesterday.”

Video? There is a video?

“What video?” Virgil asks, finally finding his voice (though he’s sure his voice isn’t usually this high-pitched).

Jurgen peers at him over his glasses.

“The hip-hop video!” He says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Virgil frowns, his brain trying and failing to connect the missing pieces.

“What hip hop video?”

Jurgen types something on his computer, tilting the screen so Virgil can look at the youtube tab. He is presented with his own image next to Joe, both laughing as they poorly attempt to sing the words to Lil Wayne’s ‘Mrs. Officer’.

“This video!” Klopp says. “EL-EFF-CEE-hip-hop-quiz-twenty-nineteen,” he reads the title slowly, looking at Virgil expectantly.

Virgil stares between the screen and the gaffer, dumbfounded.

“All this time, you were talking about the hip-hop quiz?” he asks.

“Of course!” Jurgen says. “What did you think I was talking about?”

“Huh, nothing, boss.” He laughs in relief, and Jurgen looks at him curiously, eyes sparkling behind his spectacles.

“Anyway, as I already told Alex, this music you kids listen to nowadays, it’s not very good. It’s not bad either, for sure, but you lack the fundamentals, see.” He speaks with great excitement, waving his hands overenthusiastically. “The classic hip hop, back in the eighties. Ah, those were the days! Let me show you.”

To his complete astonishment, the office fills with the opening bars of ‘Rapper’s Delight’ much to the gaffer’s own evident delight. Virgil sits helplessly through three entire tunes (that, he must confess, he does enjoy a little) before he recovers from the shock and attempts to salvage the situation.

“Boss, I came here to tell you something,” he says tentatively.

Jurgen raises his left hand in the universal sign to stop talking. “Hold that thought, I found the perfect song.”

Virgil knows this one. After all, the manager himself is probably responsible for its resurgence after the Champions League final.

_Let’s talk about sex, baby._

_Let’s talk about you and me._

_Let’s talk about all the good things and the bad things _

_That. May. Be._

Virgil feels his renowned patience wearing thin.

“Yes, I know this one,” he says, tiredly. “You sang it in the flash interview after the final.”

“Ah, indeed! Let’s talk about SIX baby. Ha! World-class entertainment.” Jurgen laughs to himself. “But you were saying?”

“Right.” He clears his throat. “First, I want to assure you that this changes nothing in what concerns the team. Our focus is solely on football and we’re committed to putting the team first.” He knows he’s talking in circles, and Jurgen’s short attention span seems to be running out. “What I wanted to tell you is that I have started a relationship….”

“Wunderbar!” Klopp says distractedly.

“… with a teammate.”

The room is immersed in heavy silence, disturbed only by his pounding heartbeat and Jurgen’s furious typing. The manager finally turns his attention to him, taking off his glasses.

“Virgil, do you know Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock?”

He takes a second to ensure he heard him right.

“I-What?”

“Rob Base and DJ E-Z Rock? You must know, for sure!” He plays the song, singing along in a hearty falsetto. _“It takes two to make a thing go right!”_

“Boss, I don’t think-_”_

_“It takes two to make it outta sight!”_

“Sir, did you hear what I said?”

“Of course, I did! Congratulations!” Jurgen beams. “So where is Trent?” He winks, and it’s too much for Virgil to process.

“What?”

“You know – Trent? Your other half? _It takes two to make a thing go right_…?” He sings softly before he bursts out laughing.

Virgil’s jaw drops to the floor.

“You knew?!”

“Of course I knew! It is my job to know about everything.” Jurgen is still laughing uproariously. “You should have seen your face,” the manager says, wiping off tears in his eyes. “You were shaking! I never thought I’d see the day.”

Virgil doesn’t know if he should feel annoyed or relieved.

“And… you’re okay with it?” He settles for hopeful.

In the blink of an eye, Jurgen turns serious.

“It’s not really my place to have a say on your relationships. Even in these particular circumstances,” he says. “But, Virgil, I know you. And I know Trent. You’re both incredible professionals. I know I don’t have to worry about you putting the team ahead when it needs to be.”

Virgil nods, still trying to come to his senses.

“Don’t look so glum,” Jurgen says, with a full-on grin. “This is a happy moment, is it not?”

“Yes,” he rushes to say. “Yes, definitely.”

“Good. Now, I don’t want to be patronizing, but I have been married twice. Do you know what the secret for a long, happy relationship is?”

Virgil indulges him and shakes his head, even though he feels compelled to point out that being married twice doesn’t exactly improve his experience in relationships.

“Teamwork!” The gaffer says with a burst of booming laughter. “The secret is _always_ working as a team. Face your challenges together, and have each other’s backs, every day, in every little thing. Share your victories and support each other when defeated. There will be times when it’s hard. There will be fights and tears, and there will be times when you will think it’s easier to just go on alone. But if football taught me anything is that nothing that matters can be achieved on your own. And even if it did, what would be the point?” Jurgen smiles and his voice softens. “Tell Trent I wish you the best, will you? Oh, and Virgil, don’t ever forget that the right things are always worth fighting for.”

“Thank you, boss,” he utters, because he doesn’t know what else to say. To be honest, never in a million dreams has he imagined that he would be doing this – dating a teammate, coming out to his manager. But Trent’s image flashes in his mind, with his lovely doe eyes and insanely beautiful smile that makes his heart melt faster than ice cream on a sunny day. And he thinks that he understands what Jurgen is saying.

“It is worth it,” he mumbles quietly, as an afterthought.

Jurgen grins, and the ceiling lights reflect on the lenses of his glasses. “You wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t.”

*

It’s the last training session before they travel to London, and spirits are high in the dressing room. Hendo is doing the pep talk routine, Rhian has got the tunes bangin’, Dejan is joking around as usual, and Trent, well… Trent is a little distracted.

He keeps glancing at the door as he changes, expecting to see Virgil come in at any second. He knows his boyfriend planned to have _the talk_ with Klopp before training, but he should be back by now. He gnaws at his bottom lip, his eyes turning to the clock on the wall.

“Hey, loverboy! Lost your boyfriend, did ya?” Ox shouts from the other side of the room, and the lads’ muffled chuckles echo through the dressing room.

He does his best to ignore them, glaring at Ox. (He is going to murder him, he swears.) Gini gives him a sympathetic look, and Trent feels at least a little bit vindicated when Hendo smacks the back of Ox’s head. 

He busies himself with retying his laces and doesn’t notice when Virgil walks in until the dressing room goes eerily quiet. (Even Rhian blatantly turns off the music, the little shit.)

Virgil drops his bag on the bench opposite to him, eyes roaming questioningly across the room. Trent gets up with a sigh and heads his way, all too aware of the pairs of eyes burning holes in the back of his neck.

“How did it go?” he asks in a whisper, standing close to Virgil so the others won’t be able to hear their conversation.

“Well enough,” Virgil answers. “Klopp wishes us the best.” He smiles at Trent and, just like that, it’s so easy to forget they are being closely watched. Trent smiles back, and they just stand there, beaming at each other for a moment.

The whispering grows louder again around them, impossible to ignore.

“What’s up with them?” Virgil asks, and Trent shrugs with a frown. _They’re idiots_, he wants to say, but somehow bites his tongue.

“Alright.” Virgil has that sexy determined look in his eyes that makes Trent shiver a little bit. He gives Trent’s hand a little comforting squeeze, and turns around, addressing their teammates. “What’s up, boys? Anything you want to say?”

He can’t help but to feel proud of how easily his boyfriend managed to shut them up. Didn't even raise his voice. Ha. That’s class.

“No?” Virgil continues, calm as you like. “Well, I do.”

He glances at Trent, and Trent knows what is about to happen. The room is charged with thick tension, everyone holding their breath. Trent knows he is being asked permission, and so he nods.

“What you have probably heard by now is true,” Virgil says. “Trent and I are together. And I love him, very much as it happens. So that is not bound to change.” His tone is soft but powerful, leaving no room for uncertainty. “Does anyone here have any problem with that?”

He is met with stunned silence. And a stunned Trent.

“Great,” he says when no one dares to speak. “Business as usual, then.”

His heart is beating fast when Virgil looks back at him, and for one perfect moment, the air feels lighter in the quiet dressing room, like a huge weight has been lifted off Trent’s shoulders even though he wasn’t aware it was there in the first place.

Then, the chaos starts.

The lads cheer and hug them, shouts of congratulations echoing through the room. Robbo still complains (even though no one cares); Hendo still grumbles (but he can’t contain a little smile); Alex still jokes (and his “Does he call you Big Virg in the sack?” earns him another smack in the head); and Bobby still grins.

But Trent pays no mind to any of them. His whole attention is on the man in front of him. He feels that weird fuzzy feeling booming in his heart again, and, as sappy as it sounds, he hopes it never goes away.

“I fucking love you,” he whispers to Virgil, unable to contain the happiness that rumbles in his chest. 

In fact, Trent is so happy that his arms find their way to rest softly on Virgil’s shoulders, and his feet raise of their own accord until he is standing on tippy-toes, and he thinks he might just do something stupid, like kissing Virgil in the middle of the dressing room.

His eyes flicker down to his boyfriend’s lips and Virgil doesn’t step back. Instead, he reaches closer, cradling Trent’s face in his hands, and whispers quietly and lovingly, “Mijn schatje.” Trent gasps softly and closes his eyes as Virgil starts leaning down, their lips almost brushing and-

“Hey!” Hendo shouts, throwing a towel at their faces.

The captain smiles widely and winks.

“No PDA in my dressing room!”

**Author's Note:**

> If you made it this far, congratulations on surviving all the second hand embarrassment. I also apologize to all English and Dutch speakers for the possible unintentional butchering of their beautiful languages.
> 
> Comments and kudos are lovingly treasured and make me grin wider than Bobby.
> 
> Find me on [ tumblr ](https://si-senor-lfc.tumblr.com/).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [【翻译】i guess what i'm saying is (i fucking love you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24069604) by [pansies0814](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pansies0814/pseuds/pansies0814)


End file.
